


a little broken

by intergalactix



Series: Sawen Lavellan: An Anthology [5]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 13:47:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7894948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intergalactix/pseuds/intergalactix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It is as he has come to fear: the mark is expanding, spreading past its point of origin. Soon, it will try to consume her. If they cannot stop it, it will kill her.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	a little broken

 

When Abelas wakes, the spot beside him is empty.

He rises from the bed slowly, reaching for the pair of his trousers that hang over its edge, and looks around the room. He expects to see Sawen conducting her usual morning exercise routine, but instead he finds the space empty. The doors leading to the balcony, he notices next, are slightly ajar.

When he finishes dressing, Abelas exits through the doors with a tongue-curling yawn. His skin prickles against the cool mountain breeze when he steps outside, and Abelas closes his eyes for just a moment as he breathes in the crisp scent of the air.

When he opens them again, his eyes land on Sawen. She stands in front of the balcony railing with her back facing him, gently cradling her left arm close to the front of her body.

His heart sinks at the sight, struck down by realization.

“Good morning,” she says without turning.

Abelas moves to stand behind her, his hands coming to rest at her hips. Lips at her ear, he replies, “Good morning.”

Sawen leans into his embrace, her body relaxing against his. Abelas kisses her temple tenderly, watches her as she stares pointedly ahead, her gaze never moving away from the sunrise.

“Are you well?” he asks, though he already knows the answer.

Sawen sighs deeply and finally glances in the opposite direction, though she still refuses to meet his gaze. She is ashamed, he knows, reluctant to ask for help though they both understand that she needs it.

Abelas looks down the length of her left arm with a frown pinching his brow. Webs of glowing, green magic spread through her veins, visible even through layers of tattooed skin. They start at her fingers, spiral around her wrist and forearm, and only stop once they reach the crook of her elbow.

“It hurts,” she admits, her voice quiet.

Abelas covers her hand with his own, moving it away from her arm so that his may take its place. Right away he feels the persistent thrum of the anchor’s magic beneath his touch, pulsing like an erratically beating heart. His frown deepens.

It is as he has come to fear: the mark is expanding, spreading past its point of origin. Soon, it will try to consume her. If they cannot stop it, it will kill her.

Abelas feels his chest constrict, but he bites his tongue. Though it terrifies him, he does not wish to make any part of this situation about him, cannot allow his mind to think the worst. Not when Sawen needs him more.

He summons a cool wash of healing magic to his palm and begins to treat Sawen’s ailment, slowly moving his hand up and down her arm as the spell is absorbed by her body. To his relief, he feels the tension release its hold on her body, which tells him that the spell is working, but Abelas knows that, for now, he can only ease her discomfort by numbing the pain. He will have to treat the anchor itself later with greater care in yet another attempt to prevent it from spreading further.

All of his previous attempts clearly failed, though he tried all he possibly could to stop it. His talents for magic are better suited to battle, honed for destruction, not tampering with the magic of the gods. If only the mark had been born of Mythal’s magic, Abelas could have very easily relieved of Sawen of this burden, one never intended for a mortal body to endure.

All the same, he will do what he must.

“You will require additional treatment,” he tells her. “And I will need lyrium to perform it.”

Sawen nods. “I have some.”

“Good.” His touch gentles, fingertips against her skin. “And how do you feel now?”

“Better,” Sawen says. “I think the worst of it has passed.”

Satisfied with her answer, Abelas ends the spell and his hands return to circle Sawen’s waist. At last, she turns around to face him fully, and when she meets his gaze it is with tired eyes, rimmed with dark circles. The anchor’s activity must have prevented her from sleeping, Abelas realizes, and he reaches out to touch her cheek.

“How long have you been awake?” he asks.

“A couple of hours,” Sawen replies, shrugging. “Give or take.”

“Would you like to return to bed?”

“Soon.” A faint smile touches her mouth. “I’m quite enjoying my present company, to be honest.”

Abelas returns the smile fondly. “I would join you, of course.”

At that, Sawen laughs.

“Of course,” she echoes.

She stands on her toes to kiss him, her arms winding around his shoulders for support. Abelas draws her close to his chest, enjoying the warmth of her mouth, the press of her body against his. He sighs into the kiss, whelmed by his relief and simply grateful to have Sawen in his arms, a little broken but still whole, still here.

When she pulls away from his lips, Sawen lowers her head to Abelas’s chest, nuzzling him with her cheek.

“On second thought,” she continues, “perhaps I should just cease my whining and get on with the day.”

“Given the circumstances, you are entitled to a little whining,” Abelas says.

“Martyrdom is unbecoming of me, _vhenan_. I’m being dramatic when I needn’t be.”

Abelas refrains from rolling his eyes at her obstinance.

“No,” he says, “but you are being careless.”

“The next few days are going to be very busy, and there are many things that require my attention,” she explains. “We leave for the Exalted Council next week.”

Abelas pulls her away from his chest. He regards her with a worried look.

“Will you be well enough to undertake such a journey?” he asks, unable to hide the concern in his voice.

Sawen laughs bitterly. “Well or not, I have little choice in the matter. Duty calls.”

“Sawen,” he starts to protest.

“Inquisitor,” she says, correcting him. “Duty, remember?”

“You should not be so indifferent when it comes to your health,” he scolds. With a smirk, he adds, “Inquisitor.”

Sawen grins at him, and Abelas feels lighter for it. It is the most sincere smile he has seen from her since joining her on the balcony.

“I know,” she admits softly. “But I’ll be fine. It isn’t getting any worse.”

Abelas shakes his head. “That is a lie and you know it.”

“Shite, Abelas, you won’t give me an inch today, will you?” She laughs again. “Tell me, then. What would you have me do instead? You know I can’t postpone this meeting.”

“I would have you remain here, where you are safe,” he says. His hold on her tightens protectively. “Your wellbeing matters more to me than the fickle politics of _shemlen_.”

“Trust me, I agree,” she says. “But we both know that isn’t how life works.”

“No,” he concedes, “I suppose not.”

“Everything will be just fine, my sweet,” she says. “The anchor will calm itself, as it has always done. And I’ll have you there with me, remember?”

Abelas sees the flicker of emotion behind her gaze, and, true as they might be, he wonders if the words are truly intended for his comfort, or if she means them for herself.

Nevertheless, he nods, and when Sawen angles her face toward his once more, Abelas meets her halfway and kisses her softly.

“Of that,” he vows, “there is no doubt.”


End file.
